The children of Winterfell were growing, their eyes now open to the world around them. Mary, with her wild white hair and piercing blue eyes, was a bundle of energy, her tiny hands always reaching for something new to climb or tear apart. Her tail, long and catlike, flicked behind her as she moved, a constant reminder of the strange magic that seemed to cling to her. Jon, quieter and more observant, followed her like a shadow, his dark eyes always watching, always learning.


    One day, as the soft light of dawn filtered through the nursery windows, the children awoke to a strange sight. Standing over them was a figure—tall, dark, and shifting like smoke. His form was black, his edges blurred, and his eyes glowed faintly, like embers in the dark. It was Shadow, their constant companion, but now they could see him clearly for the first time.


    Mary froze, her blue eyes wide with fear. She let out a low growl, her tail lashing behind her as she backed away. Jon, though quieter, clutched his blanket tightly, his dark eyes fixed on the shadowy figure.


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    Shadow tilted his head, his glowing eyes softening as he reached out a hand—or what might have been a hand. In it, he held a milk bottle, the steam rising gently from its surface. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if trying not to startle them.


    Mary’s growl faded into a soft hum as she watched him. Jon, ever the calmer of the two, reached out a tiny hand, his curiosity overcoming his fear. Shadow stepped closer, his form solidifying slightly as he knelt beside them. He brought the bottle to Mary first, cradling her gently as he held it to her lips. She hesitated for a moment, her tail flicking nervously, but then she began to drink, her eyes never leaving Shadow’s glowing gaze.


    Once Mary was settled, Shadow turned to Jon, repeating the process with the same gentle care. Jon drank quietly, his dark eyes studying the shadowy figure. There was something familiar about Shadow, something comforting, even if he was dark and strange.


    As the days passed, the children grew accustomed to Shadow’s presence. They no longer feared him; instead, they saw him as a parent—a dark parent, but a parent nonetheless. He was always there, feeding them when they were hungry, playing with them when they were restless, and bringing them gifts—shiny pebbles, feathers, and sometimes even small trinkets that had gone missing from the kitchens.